Finding My Backbone
by morgan4eva15
Summary: In Haunted Leg, Rory grows a backbone. Finally.


Title: Finding My Backbone

Description: In Haunted Leg, Rory decides to grow a backbone. Finally.

Rating: K, may change later…

Disclaimer: Yada, yada. I owe nothing…

A/N: So… I was watching Haunted Leg today, and it really bugged me how Rory just allowed Francie to push her around. It just didn't seem like her, because she does get angry sometimes (remember with Chris?). So, I wrote what should've happened. Maybe she's totally out of character… sue me. Enjoy!

FIDEL CASTRO AND BACKBONES

First day of my senior year in high school… what a joy. And of course, Paris chooses this day to begin the hell that will soon envelop my Chilton social life. What fun…

So we had this informal "get-to-know-you" gathering for the Student Government today. Well… Paris decided to go all Fidel Castro on us by spending the whole hour walking around the table lecturing us on her agenda for this year. I mean, I don't mind that much because I know that's just Paris. But the donuts and coffee weren't even touched! That goes against Gilmore code number 4: never give up free coffee for anything!

At the very end, Francie decided to propose this ridiculous idea of having the hem line of the girls' skirts raised. Could she seriously believe that Paris's first move would be that? If she did, her head needs to be screwed tighter than I thought.

And there I went, walking down the hall after the meeting had adjourned, minding my own business, when suddenly I was pulled into the bathroom. And that was no figure of speech. I was actually yanked into a friggen bathroom!

And there she stood, the devil herself. Francie. I raise my eyebrows questionally at her, confused as to why I'm here. She got the message, and proceeded to open her big, obnoxious mouth.

I'll save you the pain, and give you the cliff notes.

Paris isn't in charge, blah blah blah, she will make Paris's life a nightmare if she doesn't follow her orders, blah blah blah, she's basically queen of Chilton, blah blah blah, I need to convince Paris to give her authority over to Francie, blah blah blah. I've had enough.

"Done with your power hungry rant yet, Francie? Good. Now I talk, and you listen. First thing, whether you like it or not, Paris was elected Student Body President. Not you- her. She governs over you. Get that through your thick, hairspray-covered head. Second thing, neither Paris nor I will succumb to your black-mailing or intimidation. That's it. No questions asked. This meeting is over." I give her one more look and head strait to the door. Some of her posse tried to get in my way. Big mistake.

"Excuse me, I don't know what you think you're doing. When I said that this meeting is over, I meant it. Now move." I said, seething with anger- I'm positive that smoke can be seen coming out of my ears. Francie makes a futile attempt to try and keep me back. How dare she! Rule number 7 in the Gilmore code states never, ever get in the way of an angry Gilmore trying to leave. It is, after all, what we do best.

As I walk through the hallways, people actually part the way for me. Rarely will you see me this mad- only has it happened with Christopher, mom, grandma, and Jess.

"Whoa, Rory, something wrong? You look about ready to kill…" Madeline said as she and Louise joined my side.

"Oh, it was nothing. Just someone trying to steal the crown, and she will not win!" I replied. Madeline and Louise looked at me like I was crazy, and I'm not exactly denying it. I need coffee. Bad. Good thing class is over for today. But now, I have Jess to deal with. My life just keeps getting better and better.

A/N: Good? Bad? Excruciatingly horrible? I need to know these things, or I may need to pull a Nina Meyers on you and turn traitor (sorry, I've been watching the complete first season of "24"), and no one would want that. I will probably keep this one going… but keep in mind my incredibly short attention span, and the fact that I can't commit. But I will never cease to try! On with the show!


End file.
